


don't trust a perfect person

by serenfire



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aromantic Character, M/M, Trans Male Character, University Setting, aromantic Foggy, mentions of transphobia, there is ANGST and it's RESOLVED, trans Matt, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Matt’s sad, inexplicably sad, and with him being this drunk - glasses sliding off one ear, unnoticed - it might only be a little bit about the rejected blind trans dude thing, and more about the entirety of his life sucking bit. Which Matt hasn’t expressed since the first time they went drinking and Matt ended up in tears-that-weren’t-tears-because-his-tear-ducts-don’t-work, so it’s about time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't trust a perfect person

**Author's Note:**

> @anyone I know irl: do not read thanks

Foggy’s at Josie’s at one in the morning on a Monday night, because of _course_ he is, he’s the literal embodiment of angst and pining. 

However, since Matt only joins him on the weekend, and at some bar closer to Columbia, the telltale clink of his cane is completely unexpected. 

Matt sits down stiffly (soberly) next to Foggy, adjusting his trench coat. 

“Hey, bud.” Foggy’s lax smile is wide enough to fit, like, an entire fish in, and he’s not anywhere near the realm of clearheadedness. “I thought you were out on a blind date.” 

“She ditched me,” Matt grimaces, an entirely _not fun_ expression Foggy must rectify immediately. 

“That can’t be possible. You’re so far out of her league, and she is still super hot. What, did she forget about the sight thing?” 

Matt shifts on his barstool, even more uncomfortable now, and he nudges his sunglasses back into place where they’ve slipped. “When I went to pick her up, she said that she had been _lied to_ because I had neither sight nor a dick.” 

From Foggy’s blurry point of view, Matt is about to explode from nerves and dysphoria and who knows what the fuck else, which Foggy cannot let him do because Matt deserves so much more than dickish (but still smoking hot) girls. 

“Dude, you deserve so much more than her,” Foggy says confidently. “And her roommate even told me she was bi, so like, fuck her genital repulsion. And do not worry about it, because Foggy Nelson will find you, like, a literal angel to hook up with.” 

“Terrible metaphor, Foggy.” 

“Fuck off.” Foggy pounds his fist against the counter. “Hey Josie, we want the bottle with the eel in it!” 

“No, we don’t,” Matt says. 

“Have you _tried_ forgetting about douchebags without the help of the eel, Murdock? Because my expertise says that this is the only way.” 

Josie slams the intimidating black bottle in front of them. “You can do so much better than him, hon,” she tells Matt. 

“Excuse me. _Who_ is the one currently being the perfect wingman and treating my roomie to the best post-breakup night _ever_?” 

Matt just waves Josie and her incredulous smirk off with his unassuming and innocent smile aimed inches from her left ear. Foggy pushes the bottle and its sloshing, once-living contents into Matt’s hands. 

“Drink the whole thing, Murdock, and _then_ you can sulk about not fucking sorority girls,” he says. “Trust me, it’ll be better with this in your stomach.” 

And not that Foggy’s _watching_ Matt or anything, but when he raises the eel alcohol to his lips, his eyebrows are so pensive, so about to _snap_ , and Foggy just wants to reach up and smooth them out with his hands, or like, his mouth. Both are cool. 

(This is why Foggy doesn’t drink with Matt on week nights, just the two of them, because he thinks about _this_.) 

Matt’s halfway done with the moonshine shit, deep purple red drops splattering his lips as his calloused hands shake, and Foggy is staring all out at Matt’s face - the perfect lips that bleed into his chiseled fucking jaw, the day-old stubble Foggy wants rubbed _all over his body_. 

(This is why Foggy goes clubbing with Marci _and_ Matt on the weekend, because he won’t pine alone.) 

“Fuck,” Matt laughs, smile hanging open long after the drunken sound, “we’re going to be so pissed in the morning.” 

Foggy taps the bottle and sees the level of liquid still inside it. “What a lightweight, Murdock. Drink it _all_.” 

“Can I start sulking now?” 

“You have to be as drunk as me first,” Foggy says, taking an experimental sip out of the eel bottle. The moonshine scalds and scales kiss at his lips (from an eel or maybe a dragon, who the fuck knows), and he winces. “ _God_ , that’s nasty.” 

Matt downs the rest of it, spillfuls pouring out onto the wooden counter and his dark checkered shirt as his hands waver. “Fuck, Foggy,” he says before Foggy’s brain can detach from _liquid on Matt’s shirt_ , “but she was nice, at first.” 

“All the assholes are,” he nods. 

“But then her roommate told her about all of it right as I got to her door, and fuck, she made up her mind very quickly about everything.” 

“But that’s the entire point of a blind date,” Foggy says with a light smirk, because he has to keep this from being too depressing for both of them. “You’ve gotta be blind.” 

Matt shakes the bottle, and no liquid is left in it. “You know that was disgusting, right?” he says. “I could have at least gotten shitfaced on something nicer.” 

“But this is the cheapest thing there is, unless Josie starts actually letting us drink for free. And we’re stereotypical _starving college students_ , so like, deal with it.” 

Matt doesn’t even crack a smile at that, because two weeks ago they spent precious free time traveling all over New York to find the cheapest cereal in the city because they were _completely out of food_. A month before that, Matt had run out of T and had no money for another dose, and _that_ had been worse than the food crisis. 

“We need jobs,” Foggy declares after stewing in memory. 

“We _have no free time_ ,” Matt reminds him. 

“And yet here we are.” _Drunk off our asses because we both fail at life. Or because everyone else fails at life and affects our lives with it. Who knows._

Foggy likes being here though, in bittersweet this-will-be-a-great-memory-someday way. They’re in a bar in their childhood neighborhood, and Matt drank the entire eel bottle. Even shot-popping weekends don’t live up to the eel. 

But Matt’s sad, inexplicably sad, and with him being this drunk - glasses sliding off one ear, unnoticed - it might only be a little bit about the rejected blind trans dude thing, and more about the _entirety of his life sucking_ bit. Which Matt hasn’t expressed since the first time they went drinking and Matt ended up in tears-that-weren’t-tears-because-his-tear-ducts-don’t-work, so it’s about time. 

So Foggy keeps talking about the random shit in Josie’s bar, about the new photo on the wall of someone in a tank top flipping off the camera, about the busted fluorescent light over the pool table, about the totally hot chick a few feet away who looks too well off to be a regular, so she must be tourist and she might be glancing at you, Matt, by the way, if you’re up for someone who is totally cool about the whole blind thing - 

“Foggy,” Matt interrupts, not even turning his head to the girl Foggy’s babbling about at his three o’clock. “You keep talking about it - do you think of me as a girl?” 

“ _What_?” Foggy stares at him. “Are you being serious right now? Why the fuck would I think of you as a girl?” 

Matt’s pained eyebrows relax. “I don’t know - I just thought maybe the only reason you hang out with me is because I’m - because I used to be - there’s _no other reason_ you would get held back by me. The girl’s not looking at me, Foggy, she’s checking you out.” 

“You’re _blind_ , dude, how would you know? And honestly, what the fuck? Me telling you that you’re the handsomest stud alive doesn’t somehow mean I’m - fucking reverse psychology _disagreeing with your identity_. If you want me to stop complimenting your appearance then say so, but just know that when I tell you that you are literally the most masculine man I know _I mean it_.” 

The tourist girl isn’t looking at them, but Foggy’s hissed this loud enough that she looks like she’s overheard something private. 

Matt nods. “Okay.” He chuckles in embarrassment. “Sorry about that. I don’t have a brain to mouth filter right now.” 

_Neither do I,_ Foggy thinks, and it’s the best opening _ever_ for a terrible comment, right? “Yeah, fuck that eel, but it’s probably for the best, because I want to also tell you that you are _totally smoking hot_ and if anyone makes fun of something you may or may not lack in the dick department, I will fuck them up.” 

Matt laughs again. “I’d like to hear you try.” 

The girl is walking away, and Foggy _has_ to repeat the thought that plagues him to Matt, because it’s now or never and never is not an option. “So like, if you ever needed to hook up with anyone without the stranger danger thing, I would be totally down for it.” 

Matt’s still got a noiseless smile on his face. “Thanks,” he says, “but I know how you get after you fuck, and midterms are soon, so.” 

“Is that a yes?” Foggy knew Matt wouldn’t be mad at him if he admitted his undying lust for his roommate, but a positive response - well. 

“It’s a _later_ ,” Matt says. “I have a responsibility to see that you don’t flunk out of college.” 

“I’m grinning right now,” Foggy says. “I’m like, so happy right now, you said _yes_ , oh my god. Just to let you know, if we bang, we’d totally still be just roommates. I’m not like, in love with you or anything.” 

Matt smiles again, and Foggy’s never seen a more perfect face. “I believe you,” he says. “You’ve never been in love with anyone.” 

“And I don’t plan to, ever. So, to roomies?” Foggy holds out a wobbling fist that he manages to accidentally punch into Matt’s wall of muscle of an arm. 

Matt covers Foggy’s hand with his own. “To roomies.” 

“That might _totally bang_ sometime, holy _shit_ , I can’t stop smiling, dude, you have no idea.” 

**Author's Note:**

> watch as I pine over things on my [tumblr](http://www.tylerjosephstoast.tumblr.com)


End file.
